


The mind is its own place

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Mind Control, Pre-Slash, Team Free Will, heaven is a dystopia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: When Sam and Dean discover Cas is an unwitting spy for Heaven, Dean takes it upon himself to do something about it. Things, inevitably, do not go according to plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just something quick I needed to get out of my head so it would stop pestering me. Based on the theories going round a while back that Naomi's 'white room' might not have been Heaven at all but inside Cas' mind.

**The mind is its own place**

 

Like all Dean's plans it seemed so simple, in theory.

"I'm a danger to you," Cas had said, after a week of misinformation (which Dean had _hated_ by the way) ended with them watching as an army of angels descended on the empty woodland Dean and Sam had finally convinced Cas was the place Hell's gates could be closed off forever. "If they're taking knowledge from me against my will there is no telling how else they have... manipulated me."

The pause before 'manipulated' filled easily with 'violated' in Dean's mind and made his jaw clench, fingers itching for a weapon, eager to make someone pay.

"I should leave," was Cas' solution.

But fuck no, Dean is so _done_ with that dance, with people leaving him 'for his own good.' He's not a damsel, goddamn it. Leading danger away from him doesn't leave him protected, it just leaves him _alone_ and fuck if he's going to stand for that anymore. Fuck if he's going to let _Cas_ stand for it and force himself into an isolation he doesn't want any more than Dean does just because of some stupid idea that fighting demons by himself is the honourable thing to do.

And there was no denying that Cas _did not want to leave_. Not this time. The look in his eyes when he saw the angels fly in and realised what it meant, how he'd been betraying Dean and Sam for god knew how long, had damn near broken Dean. Any and all doubt that Cas might have been re-living past mistakes had vanished in that instant as well (and god hadn't Dean and Sam done such a good job of denying they were even _thinking_ that? 'Crowley' and 'souls' and 'Purgatory' all painfully conspicuous in their absence from conversation), because there was no way, no goddamn way, anyone could look like that having known what they were doing. The despair had been palpable, and as familiar as looking in a mirror. Dean thought of blood and sulphur and seals breaking under his unknowing fingertips and wondered if Sam was thinking the same.

So no. This was not Purgatory, this was not something Cas needed or chose, it was something forced on him, it was Heaven playing him— _him—_ like a chess piece, and Dean would be damned (again) if he was going to stand by and leave Cas to his fate.

Of course, explaining that had gone down... less than well.

Like the honorary Winchester he was, Cas was stubborn and unwilling to let his friends—adopted family—risk themselves for him, even with Sam in Dean's corner arguing the case more eloquently than Dean ever could.

"I appreciate your willingness to fight for me," Cas had said. "But how do you propose to wage war when the battlefield is in my mind?"

Which is how Dean came up with The Plan.

It was easy to execute, once you tuned out Cas' bitching. A little Dream Root and a few magic words (a year off had certainly not lessened Sam's research mojo any) and they were ready to go. They'd hopped in and out of Bobby's melon okay that time he'd needed Incepting—Dean didn't see why this should be any different.

Okay, so Cas had warned them an angel's mind was vaster than a human's, full of more and weirder memories, stuff a human consciousness might not be able to comprehend, if they got lost they might be severed from their bodies forever and blah blah blah.

So they might not survive the trip. Tell a hunter something new. Dean was willing to take the risk. Better than leaving Cas a sleeper agent or fuck knew what.

Dean suggested Sam could stay behind—it might have been handy having one of them in the land of the living to watch over their physical selves. But Sam shot him down. This was a team effort, he'd insisted. They were in it together or not at all. Dean had no counter to that.

Cas could have called the whole thing off at that point. It was his mind they were penetrating—entering—breaching— _whatever!_ —after all. There was no getting in without Cas' say so and if he's honest with himself Dean expected a veto. He expected Cas to run. He even had a hand on the guy's shoulder ready to try and stop him, as if a firm grip and a stern word could somehow keep an angel in place, god knew what he was thinking. But Cas had surprised him. He'd looked from Sam to Dean, reading the determination in their faces perhaps, and sagged under Dean's hold, sombre expression flickering for just a second into a smile. There and gone in an instant. Then he'd pressed his lips together and nodded, accepting. "Alright. Be careful."

Things had gone to hell pretty fast after that, in more ways than one.

Still thinking of their dreamwalk with Bobby Dean had been assuming, as much as he'd assumed anything, that their arrival in Cas' head would be somewhere mundane. Like Bobby's old home with Karen. He'd thought some dull, idyllic part of Heaven maybe. Or some memory of Cas chasing bees.

Instead he and Sam tumbled headlong into fire and brimstone, the whole world a crazy rabbit hole of disjointed images—screaming, bleeding shadows, Lucifer, Alistair with a burnt and blackened _something_ laughing beside him that had left Dean cold when he realised he'd recognised a demon sooner than himself.

He'd lost Sam straight away. Last saw him gasping at a pair of black, leathery shapes unfurling from a corner before Dean was swept away, flying or, for all he knew, falling.

He doesn't know how long it's been. Minutes? Lifetimes?

He's still reeling from it all—Hell (twice), Heaven's re-education chamber, Crowley, Purgatory, Leviathan, abstract moments of light and sound and things he could spend the rest of his life trying to understand and not even scratch the surface of—when he drops hard into a pile of leaves, frosty ground slamming against his left side. Ow.

Wincing, he rolls onto all fours and pushes himself up, patting the clinging leaves from his jacket. They fall to the ground just in time to be raked up by a strangely familiar rake in a strangely familiar hand.

It's not the first time Dean's come face to face with himself. It's not even the first time in the last few minutes (decades?). So watching himself rake leaves not two feet away doesn't even make him blink. What he doesn't get is _why_ he's watching this. This isn't a battle or resurrection or confrontation inside a ring of holy fire (and hadn't _that_ just been a joy to live through again?). He did this a bunch of times at Lisa's and Cas had never been there for any of them. At least not that Dean ever...

Son of a bitch.

Dean turns in a slow circle and yup, there Cas is, a little to the side, watching Dean's past self intently. Who, of course, takes no notice. How many other memories like this does Cas have? Dean catches himself wondering. How many other times did he drop by without even the courtesy of a 'hello'?

And what's so special about this time that it should make the magical mystery tour?

Leaving his past self to his raking, Dean makes his way to the silent Cas and waves a hand in front of his face. Nothing. Definitely just a memory then.

The real Cas is in here with them somewhere, he knows that much. He's caught glimpses of him in other memories. Mostly of Cas waving him frantically on or away or yelling not to open this or that door (although the one oozing black goo Dean could have figured out not to touch himself, thanks). So far Cas has never stayed long enough for a full conversation, always winking out of existence before Dean can get close enough to grab onto him. Dean doesn't know if that's just an unfortunate side effect of the dreamwalking mojo, like maybe it wasn't strong enough or something, or if the mysterious outside forces manipulating Cas were at play. In any case they can't just keep bouncing from memory to memory like this (they—because he assumes Sam is facing a similar trial). It's exhausting and getting them nowhere.

Well, nowhere with finding out how to free Cas from psychic attack anyway.

He needs to get the real Cas here and hold on to him.

Maybe if he grabs this one he can call Cas to him somehow?

Lacking any better ideas, Dean reaches for the memory of Cas' shoulders.

"Cas, I know this isn't _you_ you, but if you can hear me—"

But then his fingers fall through this version of Cas like he's made of light and Dean's senses are overwhelmed. It's not thought or feeling, it's more than that, or nothing, or everything, Dean can hardly make sense of it. Just flickers.

 _Pain. Fear. Raphael. Raphael. Too strong. Help. I need—Dean. Dean. Dean. Longing and..._ Dean can't get a grasp on this part. _No. Too much. Ask him. No. Conflict. Need._ There's another something Dean doesn't have words for but a memory of his own comes to mind. Dad's missing and he's watching outside Sam's dorm at Stanford, his baby brother laughing into the night, a hot chick at his side decked in the best kind of Halloween costume—sexy. Dean's halfway out of the Impala, but something keeps him back. He needs Sam. Dad's _missing._ He needs help.He can't do this alone. But. But. But. He doesn't want to _interrupt_. _Hurt. Loneliness. Ask him. No. Ask him. Ask him. Ask—_

With a surge of effort Dean wrenches his arms free and totters backwards. The connection fades and his mind becomes his own again. Fuck. He's breathing hard, palms and face sweating, and it occurs to him there's probably some _Matrix_ mind-focusing shit he could do to stop that because he's not real here, not physically anyway. But hell if he has the patience for that, so he just waits for his unnecessary breathing to calm and non-existent heartbeat to slow.

All the while the memory of Cas watches the memory of Dean, motionless, expression sombre but not even close to revealing the turmoil Dean now knows was raging inside the angel at the time.

He looks at the memory of himself and god _he_ doesn't remember any part of this. Another chore in a monotonous line, another pleasant, mostly numb, day of suburban life, of trying so so hard to fit in, to be the man Lisa deserved, the father Ben needed. And Cas was paralysed because he didn't think it was fair to deny Dean that?

"Damn it, Cas," Dean mutters under his breath, mission forgotten. "Yes, ask me! Why didn't you ask me? I'm right there!"

His voice rises and he waves frantically at himself, not even knowing why. It's a memory. It's over. He can't change it. But he shakes his head in despair when the memory of Cas ignores him anyway. Because he's _so close_ , if he'd just _asked_ , why didn't he -?

There's a shifting behind them.

"Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day is it?"

Dean doesn't bother trying to interfere as Crowley approaches the image of Cas and makes his offer. He barely hears what they say, doesn't need to anyway, he knows where it led. All through Dean is fascinated by his own image, less than two paces away the whole time and oblivious. _Right there_ while Cas was being seduced by the smarmiest demon of the lot. _Cas was right there_... and Dean had never called. A whole year and not a single prayer. Not once.

"Do you see now? How he suffers?"

It's a woman's voice this time. Measured. Superior. And right at his shoulder.

Dean spins round and flinches on instinct from the straight-backed woman now at his side. She's in a dress suit, collars and cuffs crisp enough to draw blood, her glossy brown hair tied back in a severe ponytail. Angel. No doubt about it.

More disconcerting, though, is how she's ignoring the surrounding memory completely and looking right at Dean. He's going to go out on a limb and say she wasn't part of this particular episode of Cas' past.

"You can see me?" Dean tries, feeling inside his jacket for a weapon. Nada. Great. Cas' subconscious can clothe him but not arm him? The fuck? "Who are you?"

"My name is Naomi," she answers, nodding politely, hands behind her back.

Pacified for the moment by the lack of attack, Dean stands up straighter and regards this potential enemy.

"It's you, isn't it? You're the one fucking with Cas' head."

The angel smiles. It isn't friendly. Dean thinks of Zachariah at Sandover, standing opposite his—opposite _Dean Smith's—_ desk, so damn _smug_.

"No," Naomi answers with a brief, condescending, shake of her head. "You're the one fucking with Castiel, Dean Winchester, not me. I'm trying to _help_ him."

"Riiiight," Dean sneers back, ignoring the innuendo. "Because rooting round in his mind without permission, whitewashing his memories, that's—that's _helpful_."

"I'm sparing him the burden of choice. The burden _you_ inflicted upon him," Naomi bites back, harsher this time but no less calm.

"You've made him your spy," Dean counters. "Don't pretend he's anything but a pawn to you. What you're doing doesn't spare him anything!"

"Sit down, Dean."

What? Dean frowns. What does she mean, sit down on the grass? Then he blinks and they're not outside Lisa's anymore. There's no version of him raking leaves, no Cas trailing away after Crowley, just a large black and white room with a long chrome desk behind an empty, uncomfortable looking chrome chair. Sitting behind the desk is Naomi, arms folded across the surface, freakishly still and unperturbed by the change of scenery, like their exchange on the lawn never happened and she's been sitting here in this room the whole time. Maybe she has? Fuck if Dean can figure out how all this _Eternal Sunshine_ crap works.

"No, I think I'll stand thanks," Dean mutters, playing for time while he looks round. There's no door, but on the wall to his right is a wide panel of tinted glass. A one-sided window maybe. He wonders who's watching.

"I insist."

There's a sharp scraping sound and Dean turns just in time to see the empty chair swivel behind him in response to a wave of Naomi's hand. The edge of the seat digs hard into the back of Dean's shins and he drops into the chair with a hiss of pain. He half expects shackles to emerge from the arms and legs and tie down his wrists and ankles, but his limbs remain free. For now.

"Approaching Castiel indirectly like this," Naomi begins, business-like and strangely reasonable, like a CEO approaching a rival company for a merger. "It allows him to do the right thing, to be part of Heaven's plan, without suffering unnecessary conflict from his foolish and perverse loyalty to you and your brother. We're protecting him."

"Heaven's plan?" Dean repeats, latching on to the only part of interest in Naomi's sales pitch. "What's that?"

Naomi frowns.

"Not your concern. All you need to know is that Castiel is under our care now. Stop trying to interfere."

Laughter bursts from Dean's lips before he can stop it. Seriously? She's dragged him in here (wherever 'here' is) to chew _him_ out for interfering?

"Oh, sister." Dean shakes his head. "You talk a good game, but you don't seriously expect me to believe you're doing this for anyone but you? You say you want to... to free Cas of his burdens? Well he's burdened _now_. And you know why?" He leans forward, raising his voice. "Because someone's messing with his head! _You_ got yourselves a clueless sleeper agent, Cas gets _nothing_ from this."

Naomi purses her lips and takes a deep breath through her nose, no longer a businesswoman but a schoolteacher seeking calm, while Dean's the attention seeking toddler refusing to do as he's told.

"You don't get it, do you?" she says, leaning forward slightly and looking down. Dean's positive if she wore glasses she'd be looking over the top of them at him. "If we needed a spy we could have sent anyone. We could watch you and you wouldn't even know it. We have bigger plans for Castiel, much bigger. This is only the beginning."

A cold shiver runs up Dean's spine.

"What do you mean?" he growls, wishing more than ever he had a weapon.

Perhaps if he thinks really hard? Sam managed to take control of the dreamscape when fighting the guy who put Bobby under. Okay, that might have been because of his demon blood mojo, but it was still worth a shot. Angel blade. Angel blade. Angel blade. Nothing. Okay. How about a chainsaw?

"Do you love your brother, Dean?" Naomi asks, breaking Dean's concentration.

"What?" he spits. "What are you talking about? If you've done something to Sam—"

But the impatient way Naomi waves her hand eases some of Dean's panic, because it's obvious from the movement and the way she sighs that she wasn't trying to threaten. Seems, in fact, to find Dean's assumption distasteful.

"I neither know nor care where Sam Winchester is, it was just a question. But the answer is plain. You love him deeply. Of course you do. So tell me, Dean." She leans further across the desk, affecting the stance of someone taking another into confidence. The piercing stare kind of breaks the illusion. "If your brother was sick, if his very essence was being destroyed from the inside by a cancer, wouldn't you do everything in your power to save him? Even to the cost of his life? Wouldn't you consider it worth the risk, when living was such a torture for him?"

An image of Sam, pale and shaking in that asylum, tormented by devils that weren't even there, burns behind Dean's eyes. He blinks the memory away. What is this? Some kind of mindfuck? Wait, they're in Cas' mind, which is being fucked, so that's a given. But what's she trying to do here? Distract Dean by making him remember how helpless he'd felt back when Sam was sick? Well she can count that as a fail, because all he feels now is mad. His fingers clench round the arms of the chair for lack of something more useful to grip, like a machete.

"What's this got to do with Cas? He doesn't have cancer."

"No, he has something far worse," Naomi tells him, upper lip curling in a snarl. "He has _you._ "

Dean opens his mouth to protest but the pure venom in Naomi's gaze stops him.

"Think about it," she continues. "What has knowing you done for him but drag him down, lower and lower? He has fought and died and worse, in your name. He has been beaten and broken, physically, emotionally and spiritually. You are a blight on his soul. All we want to do is remove it."

"Kill me, you mean?"

Naomi shakes her head.

"Killing you would be no cure. Your _stain_ has reached every corner of Castiel's essence. To purify him we must extract every part of you, every moment, every reference, every single memory of you and your time together he has. It will be like you never were."

The sharp edges of the chair dig deeper into Dean's palms as his grip tightens, but he barely feels it. He's numb.

"You can do that?"

"We believe so," Naomi nods, straightening up, arms lifting so her elbows rest on the surface of the desk, hands clasped before her. "We have been... testing the limits of Castiel's mind. Consider these times of unknowing espionage as... practice. Erasing memories is not easy. It takes time. Craftsmanship. And for an angel it is especially difficult. We had to know if he was strong enough to survive the process."

Dean is sudden aware his breathing has become erratic, his heart pounding.

"And can he?"

Naomi takes a breath.

"We are... confident that the benefits of such an erasure outweigh the risk of fatality. Castiel is _our brother_ , Dean. We love him too much not to take this risk. We plan to proceed as soon as Castiel's mind is clear of foreign bodies."

She narrows her eyes at him.

Foreign bodies. Oh right. Him. And Sam.

There's a gasp from the corner of the room.

"No..."

Dean and Naomi's heads turn together to find Cas, wide-eyed and staring beside the tinted window. There's no doubt he's the real one, he's too vivid, too solid, to be a memory. He's also shaking, one hand on the glass to steady himself, the other loosening his ever backwards tie as he pants. Teleporting in must have really taken it out of him. Whatever mental lockdown Naomi has in place is effective, Dean gives her that.

Seeing the horror on Cas' face Dean feels guilty, like he's been caught discussing how to sell out a friend behind their back. But it's not like he was considering Naomi's plan. Was he?

"What you're proposing will destroy me!" Cas cries, locking on to Naomi.

"No, Castiel," she answers, voice softer than Dean would have thought her capable of after the way they'd been talking. She pushes from her chair and hurries round the desk, arms reaching out to Cas. He flinches away before she can touch him and she lets her hands fall, an imploring note entering her voice as she continues. "It will _save_ you."

"I am in no need of saving," Cas tells her, trying to straighten himself and stand up to her. The way his chest heaves and he continues to keep a hand on the wall to maintain balance acts as a striking contradiction to his claim.

Naomi's lips stretch in a painful, pitying, smile.

"You don't know what you're saying," she says. "You're ill, brother. Corrupted. Please, let us help you."

Cas shakes his head.

"No." A flicker of silver appears in his unoccupied hand. "No, I will not."

Cas lifts his arm to strike, but Naomi dodges the blow easily. Another blade appears in her hands and Dean jumps from his chair and out of the way as the two of them begin to fight in earnest. He considers picking up the chair and swinging it against Naomi's head, but the fight is over before he gets the chance. For whatever reason Cas is too weak in here to hold out and that's a fucking bitch, it's _his_ mind damn it, what the hell has this chick done to make him so powerless in it?

With a flick of her wrist Naomi disarms Cas, sending his blade clattering across the floor to the other side of the room. She twists Cas' arm behind his back and presses his face to the wall.

"Then we will do this without your co-operation," she gasps. "It makes no difference."

"It makes every difference!" Cas insists, struggling in vain against Naomi's hold. "I am defined by my choices, by my will. I am _nothing_ if you take that from me."

With Naomi distracted Dean takes the opportunity to sidestep back. Half an eye on his captive friend, half an eye on the flash of silver lying by the opposite wall.

"You are wrong, Castiel," Naomi says, voice raw now, like she's begging. "Angels were never meant for this. Free Will is not our burden."

"No?" Cas answers, not struggling anymore but trying to reason. "Then on what are you acting now?"

Naomi turns her face away from him to the far corner of the room, conflicted. Quick as a flash Dean drops down and grabs Cas' blade, standing straight again with the weapon behind his back as Naomi lifts her head to answer.

"We follow _god's_ will."

"Our father is _gone_ , Naomi," Cas says quietly, pushing on when she shakes her head. "He is. And so is Michael. And Lucifer. And all the Archangels. There is only us now. We must decide our own fate."

"No, no," Naomi breathes, closing her eyes as though trying to blot out Cas' words. "We follow what is written. The tablets. We keep to the spirit of our father's wishes. You will... you will understand... when you are whole again, when your sickness is removed."

"I am not sick, Naomi. Please. You must let me go."

That's Dean's cue. He steps up to Naomi's back and presses the blade to the base of her spine.

"Like the man said."

The shine of relief in Cas' eyes is not as gratifying, somehow, as Dean was expecting.

Instead of letting go Naomi turns her head to glare at Dean over her shoulder. She lifts her free hand, still holding her own weapon, and Dean tenses, readying to stab before being flung away.

Nothing happens.

Naomi waves her hand again and again. Still nothing.

A flash of panic crosses her face.

"How...?" she mutters. "Everything in Castiel's mind is open to my influence. How are you—?"

"Dean is not part of my mental landscape. He has a mind of his own," Cas supplies, lips quirking at the corners. "And as such is outside your influence."

Well how about that?

"I'll be taking this then, I think," Dean smirks, snatching Naomi's blade from her hand and tucking it into his jeans. Naomi curls her now empty hand into a fist, face darkening into a scowl, but she doesn't protest. She must know that she can't, not with an angel blade at her back and no way to stop Dean from using it.

"Now—" Dean starts, but Naomi talks over him.

"Dean, please, you must listen," she insists, voice hardening again as she regains her composure. "You have no cause to fight me."

Dean has to smile. God this chick just doesn't know when to quit.

"Uh, how about holding my friend in an arm-lock? Planning to _Eternal Sunshine_ him against his will?" he quips, pushing the blade a little so the smooth line of her jacket creases round the point. "Seems like cause to me."

He lifts an eyebrow at Cas who offers a small smile back.

"But you, of all people, should understand what we're trying to do," Naomi presses. "You _know_ what damage you cause to the lives around you. You've already had yourself removed from two innocents for their own wellbeing. Are Lisa and Ben Braeden not better for having their memories of you altered? If you care for Castiel at all you will let us do this for him."

As always, mentions of Lisa and Ben cut through Dean like a knife to the gut. He swallows back the guilt over what he'd put them through, and the lines he'd crossed to fix it, as best he can.

"Lisa and Ben... that was different. I... I totally screwed them up."

"Different?" Naomi repeats, and suddenly there's nothing in the world but her eyes and their accusation. "How?"

Dean tries to give an answer but he chokes on it. He sees an angel explode into a mist of red before his eyes. Sees the same angel writhing in pain at the mercy of the Whore of Babylon. The same angel panicked in a circle of fire. Bowing his head at the news his father has left him. Carving a sigil into his own flesh with a boxcutter. Walking into a lake, black ooze dripping from his fingers. Comatose in a dirty asylum. Running through an otherworldly forest. Falling. Bleeding. Dying. Dying. Dying.

"Dean. Dean. _Dean_."

Dean has no idea how long Cas has been calling his name. When he blinks his friend's face back into focus it's like lifetimes have past. Are still passing. Part of Dean still lost in all those memories he waded through to get here.

"Dean, don't _listen_ to her," Cas begs. "I don't want this. You can't let them do this."

Cas' reluctance to accept Dean's help, his hesitance to even ask for it, seems impossibly far off. Now every part of Cas, from the way his shoulders tense to the shine of his eyes, screams _'help me!_ ' Help me. Help me. Help me. Like he'd been thinking outside Lisa's, with Dean right there. His friend _needing him_ and Dean not even noticing. Not even thinking. Not even caring about anything that wasn't Sam or his own pain. Leaving Cas to Crowley. To leviathan. To Purgatory.

"Why?" Dean breathes and his words sound so distant, like this is all happening far far away from him. "What... How is it worth it? I've seen some of the highlights of our time together, Cas. From both sides now. And it's just hit after hit. Nothing but pain and heartache and feeling like crap. I... I dunno... losing it all... it doesn't seem like such a bum deal."

For a moment Cas' features crease in fury and he struggles to pull his head from the wall to face Dean. Naomi allows the motion, her eyes fixed expectantly on Dean as well.

Dean readies for Cas' anger, steeling himself. Ready to let it fuel his resolve. Because if Cas is angry isn't that just another kind of pain Dean is responsible for? Take Dean from the equation and there will be no anger in Cas' life. No guilt. No confusion. So yes. _Yes_. Let Cas be angry now. Let it be Dean's last memory of him. A final proof to cling to when this is over that leaving Cas to Heaven was the right choice.

Then Cas' expression softens, lines on his brow smoothing out until he's staring at Dean calmly.

"Dean, I would take the pain. And the heartache. And the crap. I would. All of it. Because someone told me once I might find a better life that way. And I believe them."

A room full of gold framed paintings. Silver candleholders. No doors.

An angel figurine smashing at his feet.

"I... I don't know, Cas," Dean mutters. "The guy sounds like kind of a dick to me."

Cas smiles, really smiles, lighting up his whole face.

"Oh yes, he can be," he says. "But I would rather have him, as he is, than have never known him at all."

Something unlocks inside Dean. A tension releasing that he never knew was there until it was gone.

It makes him want to smile back, to draw Cas close to him and just hold on, breathe him in and, more than any of that, show Cas just how much he matters, how _glad_ Dean is to have Cas with him and how he doesn't ever want to lose him, not again, not for any reason at all.

But there's still Naomi, staring. And killing her won't solve the problem, won't get the angels out of Cas' head.

So Dean doesn't smile. He shakes his head, very softly, and looks down. He lowers the blade and backs off.

He turns away as Cas calls his name in disbelief, voice shattered. Because he knows the look on Cas' face will undo him, and there's too much at stake to fluff this now.

"So how do we do it?" Dean asks, glancing at Naomi. He notices Cas in the periphery of his vision only, now slumped against the wall in astonished defeat, dumb with shock. Good. That'll make this convincing. And easier.

"You and your brother must leave here," Naomi tells him. "We'll take care of the rest."

"No, not good enough," Dean counters, raising the blade again. "I want you to... I need to know you're doing what you promise, that this memory wipe won't hurt him. I want details. How does it work?"

Naomi makes a 'tsk' sound in the back of her throat, eyes rolling in exasperation.

"I told you, the procedure is difficult and complicated. I couldn't possibly explain it to you in a way your mind would comprehend."

"Just gimme the cliff notes version then," Dean pushes. "Like, where does it all go down? You need to take his body somewhere? Haul his ass to Heaven?"

"What you call his body is just a vessel, it's meaningless," Naomi snaps, twisting Cas' arm tighter in her impatience, making him hiss. "And we don't need him in Heaven. Just here. This... 'room' as I imagine you must perceive it. It happens here. That's why we constructed this place in his mind."

"Here, huh?" Dean looks round the place with new interest. So, if he destroys it all, will that help? But how could he do it? He couldn't summon up one measly weapon, chances are slim he can create anything powerful enough to demolish a whole room. No, there must be an easier way. A control panel or something. "So what? You stick Cas in here, fill it with mindwiping rays, leave him for three minutes and ding, you're done?"

He shrugs and flashes a smile. Then coughs and forces his expression back to something a little more sombre. Damn it. Too glib. Tone it down, Dean. Fortunately, it seems Naomi is already too frustrated with him to consider this behaviour out of character. She sighs.

"Yes, something like that."

Cas, though, tilts his head and narrows his eyes at Dean. Dean looks away. Play along, Cas. If you've figured it out then play along. I got this.

"Soooo, where does the Heavenly, mindwiping mojo come from? You send a bunch of workers in or you do it remotely or what?"

"There is a conduit for the power, it—" Naomi glances at the tinted glass, then shakes her head. "Enough of this! This is _not your concern_. Come closer, I'll send your mind away, then your brother's and we can begin."

Naomi might have finally lost patience with Dean's ruse, but it's too late, he caught the glance.

"It's the glass, isn't it?" he says, moving to it. "This is your link in Cas' mind up to Heaven."

Dean taps it with the angel sword. It gives a dull ting.

"Don't!" Naomi snaps, starting towards Dean. Then she remembers she has to keep a hold on Cas as well, causing her to waver awkwardly between the two of them, hand tugging on Cas' still twisted arm. "It's delicate, if you even scratch it the link will be severed and we might not be able to re-establish it. Castiel was weak after Purgatory, his defences were low. It's the only reason we were able to penetrate his mind this way at all."

That's it, Dean's done, he can't keep back the smile anymore.

"Really? Just a scratch and your whole plan falls apart?" He laughs. "Then lady, you're screwed. Because you know me. I'm all about damage."

Realisation dawns on Naomi's face with a comic drop of her jaw. She tries to lunge at Dean, but in the second her hold loosens Cas turns and grabs her. He doesn't have the strength to hold her for long, but it's long enough for Dean to drop the blade and reach down to the heavy, chrome chair. With a grunt of effort Dean flings it at the glass and the chair smashes through.

Shards of glass explode outwards, raining down on them, rising and swirling in an impossible whirlwind. Dean flings his hands up, which protects his face at least, but the shrapnel slices through his jacket, cutting up his arms, stabbing into his back. The whole world is chaos and pain and somewhere underneath it all Naomi screaming 'NO!' Dean blinks through the gap between his arms and watches as Naomi seems to dissolve, body breaking down into pixels that swirl with the glass.

"Cas!" Dean yells, closing his eyes against the storm and reaching out blindly with one hand.

A firm pair of hands grabs his arm and pulls him to the ground, the wind around Dean muted as a body shields him. Cas presses a hand to Dean's shoulder and his pain vanishes, lacerations knitting back together, burning slithers of glass removed from Dean's skin one by one until he's blissfully whole again.

It's on the tip of Dean's tongue to offer thanks, then—

Nothing.

Silence.

Dean lowers his arms and lifts his head, blinking up at Cas crouching above him. They look round together and find the room empty. No glass, no whirlwind, no Naomi.

"What—?" Dean starts, but Cas is already standing and moving away from him.

Pushing to his feet, Dean follows Cas to where the tinted window used to be. It's nothing but an empty frame now, and through it a plain brick wall. Cas puts a hand out and touches one of the bricks, dragging his fingers down to the next. He smiles.

"The link is severed," he says. "They can't reach me now."

"Naomi?" Dean asks, moving to his friend's side.

"Gone," Cas answers, still examining the wall. "She could only exist here while the conduit to Heaven was in place. When you destroyed it she was expelled."

"O- _kay_ ," Dean grins, clapping his hands. "So, job well done, right?"

There's a heavy pause. When Cas finally turns his mouth is a thin line, eyes dark. But even so, Dean can't help noticing how much _better_ he looks—steady on his feet, standing straight, every movement controlled. He's his usual, badass self again and Dean's overriding feeling about that is relief, even with the badass directed at him.

"There was a moment when I thought she'd convinced you. That you were going to let Heaven's plan for me come to pass," Cas says, staring Dean down.

There was a moment when she had, Dean thinks. A moment when I was.

Instead of saying this he shrugs and offers a smile. He knows it can't look anything but sheepish but it's the best he can manage.

"Yeah. Really had you going for a while there, huh?"

He doesn't even see Cas move. One minute the guy's frowning at him, the next Dean's slamming back against the wall beside the broken window's empty frame.

"Don't _ever_ presume to make my choices for me again, Dean," Cas growls in his ear and okay, yes, he's _much_ better. "My decisions are my own, it is not your place to say what is and isn't in my best interest. Only I can do that, do you understand?"

"Yeah, I—" Dean gasps. "I get it. I'm sorry."

Cas narrows his eyes, searching Dean's face. Not believing him, Dean realises. Which stings a little, because he _is_ sorry. But hell if he's going to break down under the gaze and repeat the apology. It's out there, Cas can take it or leave it. So Dean stares right back, standing ground. Thinking of a lawn in Fall where an angel stood making _Dean's_ decisions for him.

He's barely formed the thought when the white room melts away and the two of them are back _on_ that lawn, birds chirping above them, the neighbour's fucking Yorkie yapping in the distance.

Without the weight of a wall holding Dean up both of them lose balance for a second, Dean falling back, Cas falling forward with him. Dean's feet slip on the ground, but then Cas is righting himself and jerking Dean into a standing position.

Letting Dean go Cas looks round in confusion. Huh. Wasn't Cas who brought them here then. Figures Dean would get his _Matrix_ powers on right after the danger has passed.

"Where—?" Cas starts, then he catches sight of the other Dean once again raking his leaves and the anger drops from his expression like a falling curtain. He looks from past Dean to present Dean, creases spiderwebbing across his brow, painting his face into a complicated network of regret and defiance. "Dean, this isn't—"

"I know what this is," Dean cuts in, glancing over his shoulder at where the other Cas is standing. "This is where Naomi found me."

"Oh..."

When Dean looks back the conflict on Cas' face has smoothed away, Cas is just watching. Waiting for Dean's reaction. Not desperate, like the Cas behind Dean, ready to take Dean's every word as gospel and live his life by it. Just waiting, ready to accept Dean's judgement and move on.

And it would be so easy to judge him now, wouldn't it? Dean thinks. So easy to dredge up this past and spew it at Cas when Dean knows he's just going to stand there and take it. Cas won't apologise here, though. The lack of contrition on his face tells Dean that. But he doesn't have to of course. He's said it enough times already, over and over, even though Dean gets now that he didn't have to, not really, not for this. But then, it was never about making Cas sorry. It was just about Dean airing his grievances, making himself feel better.

"Cas..." Dean tries, trailing off when he realises he doesn't know what he wants to say.

Calling tit for tat is tempting. But Dean can hear the conversation already. _You're mad I tried to make decisions for **you**? You fucking **did** make mine for me—I thought it was what you **wanted** —You should have **asked** me!—You should have **called** me!—_ And on and on down the never-ending spiral of shifting blame to nowhere but conflict and pushing each other away until Cas is lost to him as surely as he would have been with Naomi.

Absurdly, an image of Garth pops into Dean's mind, goofy face smiling up at him in that frustratingly up-beat way of his. _I let all that stuff go. And you should, too. You can't change the past, amigo._

Okay. So what? Lean in for a hug, pet Cas' hair and tell him 'it's okay, I understand'?

It's just not Dean's style.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, searching for a compromise.

"You, uh..." he shrugs, glances at Cas and drops his arm to his side where it hangs awkwardly, a sudden dead weight Dean doesn't know what to do with. "You wanna call it even? Put all this..." He waves a hand, then stops. "All our—" he corrects. "—crap behind us and, you know... move on?"

Cas tilts his head, a fondness softening his eyes that Dean's certain he doesn't deserve still, but has been starting to accept more and more since Purgatory.

"Yes," Cas answers with a familiar flicker of a smile. "Yes. I would like that."

"Okay then," Dean nods. There's a pause. How the hell do you end these moments? "Okay, good... so... let's find Sam and get out of here." He glances round at where Crowley is just appearing, then turns back to Cas with a smile. "We'll make some new memories for you. See if we can start to outweigh the bad."

Cas breaks into another smile like the one he'd given in Naomi's white room, warm and wide and open. And this time Dean does nothing to stop it. This time Dean holds on to that smile like a promise, the image of it still burning in his mind as he closes his eyes and lets Cas press his fingertips to Dean's forehead, sending him out of the dream and into reality.

If there's even a difference anymore.

 

**~ fin ~**


End file.
